ChapterSeven
Overall, it had been a productive day. Mr. Nevil had promised he could make the necessary changes to the jewelry. He noted he had recently made some jewelry for the earl and had kept the sizing information. While Michael normally had his jewelry needs met when he was in London, Nevil’s store had become a reliable alternative. The man had a larger store in London, but kept some of the latest styles here. With the proximity to London, Nevil’s bench jeweler visited Crawley once a week, and Nevil felt certain he would get to it today.
Michael smiled to himself, imagining Isabelle’s surprise. Their engagement had been handled rather impersonally, and he wished to correct that. It was important to him that things were perfect where Isabelle was concerned. The short missive from his friend, Garrett, he had received this morning only added to his enthusiasm. Leaning back against the black leather squabs in his coach, he withdrew the letter and reread it.
Congratulations on your betrothal, my friend. I hated I couldn’t be there for the betrothal announcement, but should arrive home in a week and look forward to seeing you both.
Isabelle is one of the best people I know. Not only is she my sister, but my friend, and no vacuous debutante. A word, though—to her, this betrothal must seem like round two in a scenario she would have never imagined. But she will do her duty and give it her all. I trust as the man I know you to be, you will do the same.
Garrett
Michael found himself charmed by his betrothed. She was attractive in ways Garrett had not experienced—her enthusiasm for people and things around her and her ability to discuss almost any topic. More than a pretty face, she was interesting and enthusiastic. Garrett had the right of it. Isabelle deserved the best he could offer her. He wanted the jewelry to fit. Not the other way around. He tucked Garrett’s note back into his pocket and thought about his other problem.
Oliver’s report gave credence to his suspicions concerning the gamekeeper’s cottage. Largely, the cottage was in good order and needed a good cleaning. But Oliver mentioned evidence that someone had been staying in the cottage. They had forced one window open with a knife. Someone stacked neatly the dishes and there was food in the cabinet; organization was not a habit of the old gamekeeper. However, despite looking everywhere, Oliver found no one there and nothing that indicated definitively when the cottage had been occupied. Michael’s gut said someone was living there, despite the lack of evidence. He needed to see it for himself.
His mother’s carriage pulled up behind him as he pulled into the drive in front of the house. Michael quickly opened his door, waving off his footman, and walked behind to help his mother and sister from their carriage. He handed his sister out of the carriage first and then his mother.
“Darling, I had thought you would be in town today,” the duchess said, stepping down from the carriage and walking up the steps. “We looked for you. I thought you said you’d be there today, with Lady Isabelle. We didn’t see your coach and assumed you had changed your plans.”
His sister smiled at him, giving him a slow nod of approval, as she pulled her pelisse tighter against the chilly wind and walked to the door.
“I decided to go tomorrow so I could take care of some urgent errands today,” Michael said, pleased his plan had worked. He had mentioned the trip yesterday, hoping his mother would decide to go to town today. Making the trip the next day almost assured him they would have some privacy. His mother was never shy about interfering, and to be fair to both him and Isabelle, he wanted to see their relationship flourish or die on its own. Her help would only hinder the outcome. Breaking a betrothal was serious business, and Michael needed to be certain.
“Madame Tapiere sent word the dresses were ready, and I sent word we would meet her today. Otherwise, your sister and I would have loved to join you tomorrow.” She slanted her eyes at her son, clearly annoyed. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you planned it this way.”
“Mother, that’s a terrible thing to say. You make me sound so . . . calculating,” he said, biting back a smile at having so easily thwarted her intentions. “I wouldn’t plan such a thing.”
“So you say,” she harrumphed, wearing a knowing smile. “You are not unlike your father,” she said. “He would have done just that.” She leaned in and hugged him. “He thrived on outmaneuvering what he referred to as my ‘covert intentions’ as well. I’ve never been able to understand his meaning.” She turned to the butler, who took her coat. “Saunders, have the packages brought up to my salon.”
The butler stepped to the open door and snapped his fingers. A moment later, a footman from his mother’s carriage entered, carrying a stack of hatboxes and wrapped packages that towered over his head.
The sight of the wobbly tower of boxes drew everyone’s attention. “Cecil, two trips might have made more sense. See that nothing is dropped.” She reprimanded the footman tersely as he entered the doorway. Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and headed upstairs to her room.
Her irritation with the footman resulted from being shut out of knowing his and Isabelle’s plans for tomorrow. Michael ignored it. “Saunders, have Conners meet me in my study.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler said.
The valet entered his study a few minutes later, followed by a footman carrying refreshments. “I thought you might enjoy a bit of libation,” Conners said, directing the footman to place the tray on the table.
“Thoughtful of you,” Michael said, placing a few pieces of cheese and meat on a small dish. “Let’s discuss tomorrow.”
“I found a few unique places suited for your plans with Lady Isabelle. However, my favorite one is the bakery. Mrs. Crustin has known Lady Isabelle since she was in leading strings, coming into her bakery with her nanny. Your betrothed adores the taste of lemon. So, I’ve asked her to create what she feels would be a sumptuous luncheon with an appropriate wine. With the time crunch, I thought it best to proceed. The woman became almost giddy over the prospect of creating the perfect setting for you and Lady Isabelle and asked that I convey her gratitude for the opportunity.”
“I trust your judgment completely. Mr. Nevil will arrive early tomorrow morning—hopefully before Mother wakes.”
“I will see to it he awaits you in your study with little fanfare,” Conners assured him with a sly smile. “Although your mother may split a gut to know what he is doing here, should she spot his carriage before I do.”
“You have her figured out,” Michael said with a hint of amusement. “Brandy?”
“Thank you, no, Your Grace,” Conners said.
It was hard to forget Conners had been with him for years, first as his batman and friend. The man had taken to this new role splendidly, he thought, pouring himself a brandy. He felt pleased with his plan. “Mother plans a Christmastide celebration to announce my betrothal, but my duchess does not like crowds,” he added, realizing he should speak to his mother sooner than later about the size of the guest list, should his engagement move forward. A lot depended on tomorrow. “I need to change her mind on that, but that isn’t why I called you in. I believe we have anuninvited gueststaying in the gamekeeper’s cottage. Oliver scouted it for me and mentioned several things that seemed out of order in his report. Without wishing to alarm anyone, I would like you to go with me at dusk to look ourselves.”
“I take it, we will go armed,” he suggested.
“Yes. I would rather be prepared.”
“I will lay out your black breeches and black shirt, Your Grace,” Conners said. “It is best to wear black for your . . . reconnaissance.” He drew the word out slowly. “And owing to your last trip out of doors, there is a pair of boots I have not buffed out, so I will collect those for you as well.”
